Chapter Text
Trevor sighed as he leaned against the large tub, drawing his arms up to rest on either side of him. The hot water was a relieving balm against his aching muscles and Trevor resisted the urge to submerge completely. The bath was fucking comfortable.
He lay there for a while, looking up at the windowed ceiling. He still couldn’t believe the design of the castle. Indoor plumbing, electricity , fucking science labs. It was great. Fucking amazing actually. But now, at this quiet moment, the simple glass ceiling had Trevor’s entire attention captured. The sky was blue and bright, white clouds drifting along leisurely.
Trevor remembered spotting animal shapes in them as a child, but unlike others, he didn’t compare them to ducks, sheep, or cows but rather werewolves, harpies, and dragons. Henry had laughed sometimes when he saw him do it, but then he’d join him, telling Trevor more facts about different monsters that he hadn’t known yet.
He stared at them now, smiling at the memory and trying to find a familiar shape in the white spaces. He titled his way this way and that, huffing when he thought one looked like a sheep.
But suddenly, the water felt cold and he was uncomfortably conscious of the press of the tub behind him.
Adrian.
The name had flown into his mind several times, a hurricane of confusion because no matter how Trevor looked at it, no matter how he tried to piece it together, he couldn’t.
The scratches seemed to be etched into his mind rather than on the floor.
His stomach churned and Trevor watched the clouds for a moment longer before he sat up and grabbed the soap, washing over his body. His skin was slightly red from the water and Trevor dunked his head in, intent to wash it next.
He had just raised the soap bar to his hair when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?” He called out.
Adrian’s voice came through the door. “I’ve brought a change of clothes. I’ll set them outside?”
Trevor looked at his own stripped and disregarded clothes on the floor.
“You can bring them in,” he said after a moment, looking down at the murky water around him.
With a quiet click, Adrian came in and Trevor spared a glance, heart racing but not because of the fact he was in here while he was in the bath. Trevor remembered the scratches on the floor, and the look in Dracula’s eyes as they both stood over it.
He remembered coming into his room to see Adrian, fluffing his pillows and unable to get a word out other than he needed to write a letter. Adrian’s brows had furrowed at his behaviour but he’d left to give him privacy to write it. Trevor’s gaze followed him the entire way until he closed the door behind him.
Trevor had not written the letter.
With a start, he realised Adrian was saying something, his mouth moving and quickly snapped to attention.
“Sorry, what?”
“I wondered if you’d finished writing your letter to Ann?”
“Oh. Not yet.” He raised the soap bar to his hair. “Still figuring out exactly what to say. How to warn her without giving away anything obvious.”
“And without my father noticing.” He noted.
Trevor winced. “Yeah, that too. But if Dracula doesn’t see it, then I doubt anyone else will.”
Adrian nodded but his head cocked, slight confusion on his face. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to warn them?”
He shook his head. “No, I mean—” he raised a hand to his head. “Why are you using soap?”
Trevor blinked. Was this really happening? “To wash my hair…?”
Adrian blinked back. “You use a bar of soap to wash your hair?”
“What… what do you use?”
Adrian took a step towards him, hesitant, and then shook his head, quickly walking behind him and rummaging through the drawers.
“You’ve only taken the soap!”
“So?” He twisted over to see Adrian had taken out a few bottles, all filled with liquids. Some were different colours. Trevor had seen and skipped over them all when he’d first moved in. “I use soap to wash.”
“Yes, but,” he looked over with wide eyes. “We have so many different scents and—” He stopped there, hands hovering over the bottles. He then shoved all but two back in the drawers and came back, holding them in front of him. “Use these to wash your hair.”
Trevor tried to look behind him. “What happened to the scents?”
He shifted, eyes everywhere but him. “You don’t need them.” He thrust the bottles into his hands. “Use the green to wash and the white, leave it in for a few minutes before rinsing it out.”
Trevor stared dumbly at them. “Adrian. The soap is fine.”
He huffed. “You say that but your hair is a bit of a mess. I always thought it was natural but maybe it's the effect of using soap,” he said contemplatively.
He scowled. “It is not.” He shoved the bottles back in his hands. “You can shove these up your ass.”
“Eloquent, as usual.”
He mimicked him under his breath, knowing he could hear him regardless. He was beginning to soap up his hands when he felt a wet touch on his head.
“What—”
Water dripped onto his forehead and Trevor gaped when he felt long fingers delve into his hair, running over his locks before rubbing at the scalp.
Trevor made a noise. It was a dignified one. It was.
“Are you washing my hair?” He exclaimed when he could finally find his words.
Adrian hummed. “So you can see the benefits of leaving bar soap behind, yes.”
He spluttered. The smell of mint wafted around him. “You—”
Adrian rubbed at the back of his skull, nails scraping his scalp and Trevor’s head automatically dropped down into his hands. He could hear the foam in Adrian’s hands move around as he scooped up some water, letting it fall into his locks as he continued.
When did washing hair feel so good? Trevor always washed his in a quick, efficient manner but maybe he missed something. As Adrian’s fingers softly rubbed behind his ears, Trevor relaxed, leaning fully against the tub and into Adrian’s hands.
His eyes closed, feeling only the ministrations on his head. It was nice. Grounding.
After a few minutes, Trevor felt Adrian put a hand over his eyes as water fell around his face. He felt the suds too as they were rinsed off.
When Adrian released his hands, Trevor felt himself rise a little, about to follow them before he remembered himself. “Thanks,” he rasped.
“We still have this bottle.” Trevor heard it uncork. “It makes the hair shiny, I suppose.”
“Do you use this too?”
“A different scent, but yes.”
Trevor hummed. “You do have nice hair.”
A pause. Then Adrian huffed. “Well, it does need maintenance being quite long.”
As Trevor felt the cold substance be rubbed into his hair, he hummed. “My mother cut hers because of that.” He thought again. “And sometimes it’s a hazard in battle. Someone can grab it.”
He could hear the smirk in Adrian’s voice when he said, “No one can catch up to me.”
“I can.”
“Or maybe I’ve been letting you.” Adrian’s fingers left his hair and Trevor glanced up to glare at him but instead stared at his wide smile.
There was that feeling in his chest again. It had been happening a lot recently.
“Asshole.” He grumbled. “Get out of my bathroom.”
He only grinned wider. “Remember, it should only be in for a few minutes.” He rose from his position behind him, and Trevor heard the bottles clink as he put them away. “You know, you are welcome to use anything here. We stocked it up for you.”
“I use the shaving tools,” he grumbled. “If this actually does anything, I will think about using your hair potions.”
Adrian walked to the door, hands wrapped around the edge of it as he left and though Trevor saw his answering grin, he couldn’t keep his eyes off his hands, his fingers, his nails.
The image of scratches on the floor came into his mind again. Trevor raised a hand to his hair, traced the path that Adrian’s fingers took through it in pattern before stopping.
Trevor looked back down at his hands, palms burned and rough.
— —
“How’s it coming along?”
Trevor sighed at the empty letter. Balls of discarded, scrunched paper were littered around him. “Shit.”
Shit, because he couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened. Shit, because his back still had a slight ache to it. Shit, because now that he wasn’t in a lab to distract himself, he remembered Michael’s sharp nails and even sharper words.
Scars, scars, scars. Burned into his skin. Branded into his mind.
“You’ve been at it for a while.” Adrian stood behind him and Trevor leaned back so he could see the ridiculousness that was nothing on his paper. “Do you want to try again later? Attempt something else?”
“What?”
Adrian sat on the edge of his desk, the afternoon sun spilling in from the window behind him. When he tilted his head to look down at him, the light shifted, catching on the sharp angles of his face, the brightness of his hair, of his eyes.
There could be a poem for this, Trevor thinks.
“We haven’t been to the kitchen for a while.”
“I thought I was supposed to be on bed rest.” He pointed out.
“I suppose your helplessness has changed my mind.” The corner of his eyes crinkled. “I can’t stand it.”
He scowled, flicking his knee. “I’m writing letters. Words aren’t my strong suit.”
“I know.” Adrian stared at him. He licked his lips and Trevor looked down, suddenly interested in his blank page again. “But I think that’s what makes what you do say special.”
“How so?”
Softly he said, “Because then it’s known you mean it.”
Trevor froze. Had Adrian really observed him that closely?
Was it true? Trevor knew others thought him brash, rude and sometimes foul-mouthed. None of them had interpreted it like this.
He wished then, that that sudden brashness came to him again. You scratched the floor, he wanted to say. Why?
But he didn’t. Because that brashness didn’t come.
Because he doesn’t act with Adrian as he does with others.
‘That’s what makes what you do say special.’
He cleared his throat. “If you see it that way.”
“I do.” He said softly.
He laughed hoarsely. “You can help me with this letter then.” He was about to pick it up when Adrian intercepted, his hand gently holding his wrist.
“Later. Let’s get something to eat first.”
Trevor looked up sharply. “No more soup?”
Adrian grinned as he got off the desk. The sunlight moved with him. “No more soup.”
The kitchen looked exactly as he left it.
“Feels like ages since I’ve been down here.”
“We didn’t do much cooking while you recovered.” Adrian gestured to a basket. “Mostly just ate bread.”
“Lowering yourself to the average peasant experience? How did your father take it?”
A glare. “He made us consume some fruit.”
Trevor cackled, sitting in his seat at the counter and Adrian took his place behind the stove.
“I still want to cook something for you.” He said, watching Adrian pull out the forgotten pans.
“We can—“ he stopped, looking back at him with wide eyes. They spoke at the same time.
“Garlic bread!”
Trevor got up from his seat immediately. “Ha! Can’t make me sit if I'm the one who knows the recipe, can you?”
Adrian rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to, you oaf.”
“Sure, sure.” He joked.
“I’d rather make fresh bread than use this.” Adrian stared at the basket in distaste and Trevor shrugged.
“Stop being so dramatic. It’s fine.” Trevor shuffled through the cupboards to find his ingredients. Butter, garlic, of course, parsley and a little bit of salt. “You’re my sous chef.”
“As you wish.”
—
Trevor looked towards the oven when he knew the time was up. “Could you get it?”
Adrian stood up from the stool beside him, where they had both waited out the baking time by talking leisurely.
“Too lazy?” He teased.
Trevor paused. “Tired.” He admitted. “The first time I used your oven, I was surprised by the heat. It reminded me of the day my father died. When the Church and the Guard came.”
Adrian was back at his side, his hands holding Trevor’s own. He knew Adrian could feel the raised scars. “I never considered… I’m sorry.”
Trevor waved him off. “It’s fine. I couldn’t even admit I wasn’t fine until the night I came to your room.” He smiled at the memory. The soft lights and the coloured cube. His family ring. “Thank you.” His eyes widened and Trevor huffed. “I must not say that a lot, huh?”
‘That’s what makes what you do say special.’
He shifted but Adrian shook his head. “That’s not it. I’m only… happy I could help. I only ever want to help you.” He admitted.
Trevor squeezed their joined hands, his gaze drifting to Adrian’s neat nails. He stared, the memory’s loud and truthful.
When he spoke, Trevor knew he sounded choked. “You do more than that.”
—
“Alright,” Trevor said with excitement. They were both looking down at the cooking tray, now not as hot to the touch.
He picked up a piece for him and Adrian. Hesitantly, they both brought it to their mouth, taking a small bite.
Trevor paused. “Holy shit.”
“Indeed.”
Their fingers and mouths were coated with butter by the end of it.
— — —
Trevor stared down at the letter, filled with running words and smudged ink. His seal was in front of him, waiting, but Trevor wouldn’t go back on his word. He stood, looking at the papers one more time before exiting his room.
“Hey,” he leaned against Adrian’s door frame. “Know where your father is?”
Adrian’s eyes widened slightly as he saw the letters in his hand and he stood. “Probably his study. I’ll take you there.”
Together they walked through the castle, entering a wing that Trevor hadn’t explored yet. It was ridiculous to know how big the castle was. He couldn’t imagine how Dracula had stayed in it before, without Lisa and Adrian.
He frowned, remembering the quietness of his room before Adrian began to stay with him.
“I know my mother saw him this afternoon. He will likely be in a… better mood.”
“Not gonna rip my guts out, huh?”
Adrian's brows furrowed. “He wouldn’t. He knows— he knows the pact wouldn’t allow it.”
“And Lisa.”
He huffed. “That’s right.”
As they walked deeper down the hallway, Trevor swore he felt the air get colder, the lights dimmer.
“Does he know we’re coming?”
“Most likely.”
He swore.
They stopped in front of an ornate door and Trevor rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“If you’d like me to come in with you—”
He shook his head. “It’s alright. I have to do this for myself anyway. Make my ancestors proud of me,” he huffed.
Adrian’s eyes lightened. “They already are.” With a hand skimming his shoulder, Trevor watched him leave the hallway, his steps echoing.
The temperature got colder.
Steeling himself, he readied the doorknob, his shield in the attack and swung open the door.
If Trevor thought the door was dramatic, the study was more so. With a fireplace as the only source of light, Trevor had to stare at the dark space, letting his eyes wander until he found the desk.
Ah. There was Dracula behind it.
Steadying himself, he let the door close behind him, holding up the letters. “For your perusal.” He tried not to let the sarcasm run through but Trevor could only do so much.
Dracula said nothing, only holding out a clawed hand.
He handed it over, casually sitting in the plush seat in front of the desk and waiting. Dracula stared at him for a moment before beginning to read.
Trevor took this as an excuse to look around.
There wasn’t much incriminating. Maps, books and some devices he couldn’t recognise.
His eyes paused on the portrait on the wall, the softness of it contrasting from well, everything here.
That’s two portraits of Lisa he’d now seen. He wondered if there were more.
Dracula spoke lowly, “something interesting?”
Trevor looked back at him. “No.”
He hummed, red eyes flicking to the portrait and back to his letters.
Trevor couldn’t stop himself. “Well?” He blurted.
A slow blink. “What?”
“What do you think? It can’t take that long to read.”
His eyes narrowed and when Trevor thought he was going to be thrown across the room, Dracula's expression went blank. And then he spoke, “‘Dear Ann,’”
Trevor straightened. “Wait? Wh—”
Dracula ignored him, continuing to read from the page. “‘Don't freak out. I’m sorry for not writing. I got a bit distracted when Dracula told us the Guard was sighted. It made me remember a lot of things, some which I’d rather forget.’” Dracula stared at him and Trevor crossed his arms defensively.
“What? I needed to make it believable.” And while it was true, he didn’t want to seem weak in front of the vampire.
Because while Dracula had left their previous conversation in the past, Trevor couldn’t. If Dracula brought it up again, he didn’t think he’d react in a respectable Belmont manner.
He hummed, eyes roaming over the page. “‘Nothing has changed much. I’m still learning with Lisa and Adrian.’”
His head was titled in a gesture that was so familiar to Adrian that it made him sick. “Is that so?”
“What so?”
“Nothing has changed?”
“Other than having my spine fractured and attacked by over thirty vampires? No. Not really.” He paused. “I guess we have a pet sheep now.” At Dracula’s pause, he said, “he’s called Adrian.”
“So I heard,” he said coolly.
Trevor blinked. “You did?”
Dracula continued to recite. “‘Do you remember the rock fall when we were children? It gave you your first scar. You had cried the entire way as I carried you back home but only because we weren’t supposed to be there…” Trevor shifted. Hearing a childhood memory from fucking Dracula was not something he ever imagined happening.
“Is there a point to this?” He snapped.
His eyes were mocking. “Can’t I bond over innocent childhood memories with my son-in-law?”
He glared. “No.”
“Cruel. Lisa says you’re quite intelligent if you put your mind to it.” He waved a hand. “I’ve yet to see it myself.”
He glared harder. “Funny. I don’t care. Is the letter alright or not?”
Dracula looked over it once more and Trevor held himself still, making sure his heart rate was steady.
“It is adequate.” His longer fingers sealed it inside an envelope, waxing it shut with— was that a Belmont crest? How did he get that?
He’s Dracula. He killed your ancestors. Of course, he has it.
But the thought of it, Dracula and his ancestors, made him look at his ring. It was gleaming in the dim light, the insignia so faint, Trevor wondered how old it was.
And he found himself asking, “whose was this?”
Dracula held the letter between his fingers and threw it down on the table as he said nothing.
“Adrian said it belonged to one of my ancestors. But you didn’t tell him who.” He stared. “Who was it?” He paused. “Do you even remember them?” Were they a pebble on the shore of dead Belmonts?
But unexpectedly, Dracula chuckled. “I remember Leon.”
Trevor started. “Leon? As in the Leon who—“
“Followed me from France and started this useless crusade? Yes.”
Trevor stared down at the ring, awed. The first Belmont hunter. This was his.
“You knew Adrian was going to give this back to me.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t try to stop him?”
Dracula stared at him blankly. He was looking directly into his eyes. Blue, his mind helpfully supplied, the same as Leon’s.
Trevor kept his demeanor calm but his mind was racing with the new knowledge.
“I saw no point in it. Now take your letter and get out, Belmont.”
Trevor watched the familiar bird fly off away from the aviary. He grinned.
— — —
Trevor paused at the sight of his empty room. A candle was lit at his bedside, flickering from the breeze by the open window but Adrian wasn’t there. After a moment’s hesitation, Trevor went to his room instead.
The door was open and he walked in, turning to see Adrian sitting at his dresser.
He was brushing his hair.
“Oh.” He caught sight of him through the mirror. “Hello.”
“Hey.” He stood behind him, watching him smile. “Wondered where you were.”
He sighed. “I’d hoped to do this before you came up.”
He snorted, lightly. “That’s nice but I’d be okay without you for a few minutes.”
“How was my father?”
“Not as bad as he usually is. He read my letters aloud. Probably trying to make me nervous.”
“Oh? And how did that go?”
Trevor grinned. “Fine.” He paused. “Guess what I found out about my ring?”
When Trevor had explained, he laughed at Adrian’s disbelieving expression. His eyes were wondering. “I wonder why he never destroyed it.”
Trevor shrugged. “Probably a reminder of how all this shit started. Besides, your father collects a lot of things.”
Adrian grinned. “That he does.”
Reaching over Adrian’s shoulder, he took the brush from him.
“What are you…” He trailed off when Trevor collected his hair, brushing lightly at the bottom.
Adrian’s hair was much softer than he expected. It fell over his finger in a golden wave.
“I used to brush Ann’s when she was little.” When we were both little. “It’s sort of relaxing.”
Adrian was watching him through the mirror. “Is it?”
He shrugged. “It’s nice, sometimes.” It’s a sight he doesn’t see often. His hands not covered with blood or blistering burns but soft strands of hair. He paused. “Monster hunting gets the blood running. But,” he scoffed, “this reminds me that Belmont’s do more than kill. I’m sort of sick of death.”
“You do.” Adrian paused. “What I said at our wedding about your family… I hope you don’t think I still mean it.”
He snorted. “It’s fine, Adrian. If Dracula wasn’t a few seats away, I probably would have said worse to you too.”
He exhaled a soft laugh. “But I hope you know it. You’re…”
“I’m?” He prompted, nervous. He busied himself by brushing further up Adrian’s locks, closer to his head.
When Adrian said nothing, Trevor looked up catching his gaze through the mirror. His breath caught at the way Adrian was looking at him.
Soft.
“Let me guess,” he said rushingly, “I’m not that bad.”
Adrian said nothing and Trevor thought he would stay saying nothing when he said, “I was going to say I think you’re wonderful.” He wasn’t looking at him through the mirror anymore. He stared down at his hands. “A wonderful person… and husband.”
Trevor’s chest felt as if it was going to burst. “Thank you, husband.” He replied softly. Adrian nodded jerkily in response.
Tentatively, Trevor finished brushing Adrian’s hair, placing the brush back on the dresser. He paused. “Do you have a band?”
He blinked. “You’re really going to do a design?”
“Nothing extraordinary. Ann used to say sleeping with her hair unbound made it tangled.”
Adrian said nothing, pulling open a drawer and passing him a simple hair band. Trevor took his place back behind him. He ran his fingers through Adrian’s hair, relishing the softness of it.
It was beautiful.
Carefully, he divided the sections and went to work, muscle memory coming back as he did the simple braid. He noticed Adrian’s shiver as his nails brushed his scalp and quickly pulled away.
“Alright.” He flipped the dangling braid over Adrian’s shoulder, grinning at the look of it. “Not bad. I applaud myself.”
Adrian stared at the mirror, at his reflection. His hand ghosted over the back of his head, feeling the secure braid there as it ran down over his shoulder. “It’s perfect. ” He looked up at him. “Who is doing Ann’s hair now that you’re gone?”
He snorted. “Herself. Or knowing her, she’s not brushing it all,” he sighed. “I hope my Mother wrangles her into it.”
Adrian chuckled, standing up and away from his dresser. He titled his head. The braid moved with him. “Shall we?”
He swallowed. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Trevor settled into his bed and Adrian took his usual place on top of the covers. “What do you think then?”
“Of?”
“The braid.” Adrian was running his fingers over it, holding it close.
He scoffed shakily. “Are you trying to doubt my skills? Fuck off. It’s good. Great.”
“Great,” Adrian said the word as if trying it out for the first time. There was a shuffle as he lay down from his sitting position. His head was atop the pillows and he faced Trevor.
Just get under the covers at this point. His mind caught up to him and he gaped. Wait—
“It’s wonderful.” He almost shouted, as if trying to drown out his thoughts. In the darkness only a spear of moonlight allowed him to catch a flash of Adrian’s grin.
“Goodnight, Adrian.”
“Goodnight, Trevor.”